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This week started off with one of those weird days, where everything is going along nicely, and the next moment you’re clutching the bathroom floor for dear life. As with all good stories, it started at the DAMN POST OFFICE. Did you know Sudan even had a Post Office? I didn’t. I thought the big empty crumbly building that was the Post Office, was just another of Khartoum’s many millions of big empty crumbly buildings. Happily I was wrong, and even better, there was a very limited selection of 1970s era postcards to choose from, all depicting places in Sudan I hadn’t been to. Ultimate score. Apparently we chose well, because Post Office Lady went into hysterics when she saw our postcards, which were mainly bog-standard ones of pyramids and camels. In fact, she got so excited that she came round the front and got her picture taken with us. It was all very warm and confusing, like most things in Sudan.

After all that excitement, we were in great need of some lunch, so one of our friends took us to a restaurant consisting of mostly huts, for some ful.

I thought that would be all my fun for the day, but then a baby touched my nose on the bus on the way home, and then I really disappointed a lady by informing her that my eyeliner was from England, not Sudan. I should point out that she had asked me about it, I wasn’t just telling randomers on buses where my stuff was from. 40,000 buses and a short hole/rock themed walk later, I found myself back at the Dutch Embassy where Friendly Dutch Man was putting on a poolside soiree, this time with a pack of European Cool Kids and drinks that may not have been water. It was at least a 5 on the awkward scale when we arrived, as I was trying to be on the phone to someone in the process of hiding an illicit treat in an air conditioner for me, at the same time as greeting the European Cool Kids. Not easy.

The night proceeded with many friendly chats and friendly drinks, some variety of late-night public transport, and The Tedious Englishman shouting at me while I vommed and fell asleep hugging the toilet bowl. Some might say it was not my finest Sudanese moment so far. They could be right about that. I behaved much better on Thursday by doing essentially nothing at all, except sleeping and wishing the ever-present traffic outside my window would just SHUT. UP. Things picked up again on Friday, when we encountered The Worst Amjad Driver Ever on the way to a party at the German ambassador’s house (la-di-dah). We put him on the phone with a Sudanese friend who told him, in Arabic, where it was we needed to go, and a price was agreed. All was going well. Then he insisted on driving at 0.3 mph. We were genuinely being over-taken by rickshaws.

The next hour or so consisted of him getting lost, shouting at us/our Sudanese friends on the phone, stopping the amjad and waving his hands around, before muttering things in Arabic and shouting some more. We were in the middle of nowhere and things were looking bleak. And then the amjad wouldn’t switch on again. Welcome to Broken Down Car Episode 3 of my Sudanese adventure so far. Everyone loves a bit of amjad-pushing in the dusty darkness before a party don’t they? No. Eventually, one of our friends drove and found us, yelled “EVERYONE, GET IN THE CAR”, and we were thus saved from the terrible wrath of The Worst Amjad Driver Ever. But not before he yelled some more, demanded more money and drew some stuff in the sand. Thankfully, when we actually got to the party, everything was serene and lovely. It was held in the enormous flowery garden of the German ambassador’s house, complete with swimming pool, awesome Nile views and the most German looking security guards I’ve ever seen (think cheekbones and stern greetings). It’s almost like the guy has a really great job or something. He also had excellent glasses. Well done Mr. German Ambassador. After some interesting dancing, even more interesting drinks, and briefly meeting a chap who is apparently a famous singer in Eritrea (get in), the night ended with a passing randomer giving us a lift home for free. Isn’t Sudan full of very nice people?

I had a bit of a bizarre moment the next day. As ever, something went a bit wrong in terms of buses, and I ended up walking over a large bridge to get to Bahri. This wasn’t a problem, until I walked by a Gang of Youths (they must have been between 6 and 12 years old at most). At first, they were quite friendly, with shouts of “HELLO, HOW ARE YOU?”, “YOU ENGLISH?”, “YOU MARRIED?”, “YOU HAVE A SON?”, all whilst staying two or three steps behind me. I felt like a Sudanese Forrest Gump (in the bit where he goes running for ages, and there’s an ever-growing following going on behind him), minus the beard and the hat.

I was just beginning to enjoy being part of my new gang, when one of them started repeatedly yelling “I WANT TO KISS YOU” and a tiny one pulled my hair. Nah-uh Gang Of Youths. Unacceptable. As ever in Sudan, as soon as a tiny bad thing happens, a good thing doesn’t seem to be too far behind. I only walked a little bit further before finding a friendly amjad driver who drove me for ages and only asked for 5SDG, which is hardly anything. A sweet deal in fact. The last few days have been filled with devastatingly early mornings (I had to get up at 10am guys, twice in a row), in order to get to teacher training at Khartoum University. It was actually quite interesting. Over tea and biscuits, and three failed pens in a row on my part, Education Lady told us some of the history of the Sudanese learning English, and why many of them want to learn it now etc. before teaching us how to teach. So meta. We also got to sit in on a lesson and then explore Khartoum University Press, which is full of….books. In Arabic. No, I did not buy any. I did enjoy the book-based statue outside though, which is reminiscent of those outside the University Library in Cambridge, for any of you cool cats that have been there.

Lunch consisted of weird yellow street food that looked like chickpeas but tasted like custard, was called something that sounded like Pumba and apparently translates as ‘wheat extended’. That is genuinely the best description I can give you. It tastes amazing though.

Afterwards, we went for a jaunt around Khartoum University. If any of you come and visit Khartoum, I definitely recommend doing this. It’s the first time I’ve walked anywhere here and thought "that is some top-notch colonial architecture’", and not just because I don’t know anything at all about architecture. Some of the hallways looks like Sudanese versions of Hogwarts/Cambridge, which is obviously, excellent. If that’s still not enough to convince you, the place is also home to a few bastard monkeys. Why aren’t these places ever populated by ponies? Or bunnies?

In the evening, we went to an Egyptian restaurant, where menu choices included ‘Hot Dog Bikini’, and my personal favourite, ‘Shrimp or Viagra’. Clearly, having both at once is not the done thing. We were then driven to a mysterious dark car park somewhere in Amarat by some students of one of the Lovely American Girls for ‘the best tea in Sudan’. Apparently the sita shai (tea lady) who makes it has been on TV and everything. So many famous people all up in my grill this week.

Yesterday began with more teacher training, which involved a lot of information about ice-breakers and ‘warmers’. Who knew teaching was temperature related? IT’S SUDAN. WE DON’T NEED NO WARMERS. IT’S FUCKING BOILING. We treated ourselves to weird street-custard again and bizarrely, several people I’ve actually met walked by. It’s almost like I know some people in Khartoum, having lived here for over a month now. First, one of The Tedious Englishman’s students walked by, so he came to join us with his friend who “really likes American accents”, and before long, the SVP coordinator happened to drive by on his motorbike, with another volunteer on the back. It was all so much, that we had to have a round of tea immediately to calm down.

Aside from the water being mysteriously off at the flat (not ideal in a place where showering several times a day often feels very necessary), the evening was good, since it involved a most excellent dinner at Solitaire in fancy Riyad - even if it did cost about a million SDG and took several thousand modes of transport to get us there. An added plus was that there were fewer blokes with AK-47s stopping cars compared to my last visit to Riyad.

Since you’ve waded through all this nonsense so far, and have surely felt bored at least thrice along the way, here is a reward in the form of some fun facts:

We definitely have cockroaches in the kitchen

You can get apple flavoured toothpaste in Sudan. WHY?

One of the volunteers genuinely has a huge blister on his finger from snapping his fingers too much at a wedding. Sudan: the land of finger snapping-based injuries.

You’re welcome. Next week’s drivel is likely to include some museum visits (for am I not a history graduate?) and possibly some more information on potential trips outside of Khartoum. Since I’m now all trained and shit, maybe I’ll even be able to start teaching at some point… Until then - ma’asalaama everyone, Emily x